A Loan Long Overdue
by Eupa
Summary: Not a literal loan. Conversation leading to mild fluff. Shwatsonlock. Features an apathetic fire. Beginning relationship.


**Dedicated to Lupa Dracolis**

"Holmes, I have a puzzle for you!"

Sherlock Holmes' left eye twitched slightly in the faintest semblance of interest. Its companion never wavered from the over-the-shoulder, unspecified location which commands the attentions of all whose minds are temporarily blank. The fire blazing in the grate over whose shoulder Holmes' gaze was fixed, had a similar whiff of half-hearted detachment.

Too well-acquainted with the haphazard sprawl of limbs, swathed in web-like blankets despite the fire (perhaps even in contempt of the same, given its apathetic attitude) to be deterred, Watson paused only to deposit his coat and hat, lightly doused with dew of misty variety, rather than that of rainfall.

"You remember I was going to visit Silversmith? Joint trouble has returned, and I'm not surprised considering- But here's the bit that will interest you-"

"I am unconvinced, Watson." Holmes' voice was fatigued rather than aggravated, so Watson pressed on with his tale.

"I only chanced to see it- Silversmith's eldest emerged from the house not long after I'd gone, and was halfway to where I stood- my pocket watch had become entangled whilst waiting for a cab- and another lad emerged from the hedgerow- I assume there was some sort of tunnel-"

"Quite a common occurrence. I trust that was not the entire point?"

"Of course not, my dear Holmes!"

"Then I beseech you; restrain your prose to the facts."

"Am I to take it that what I have to say _has_ been of some interest?"

"Not as of yet, but I hope that it shall become so." A dismissive wave of his hand prompted Watson to continue his tale, settling onto the end of the settee nearest to his friend's chair, from which vantage point he able to study the Holmes' expression.

"They made some peculiar manner of gesture- the boy has always seemed to consider himself under suspicion-"

"A common preoccupation of youth."

"Perhaps. I merely wondered if there was anything in it."

"In _what_? Watson, how masterfully you have excluded the key event from my notice! I hope you should do the same if you ever commit a crime, so well can you hide the entire secret in your report!"

"He made a peculiar hand gesture."

Holmes snorted in contempt, and Watson was urged on by some sudden impulse, as when the whip of a jockey spurs on his horse to leap the fence when previously it hesitated; so Watson was determined, for a split second, to leap into the unknown, even at the risk of a violent fall.

"If you would hold up your palm, my dear Holmes, I shall express the gesture without any further superfluous detail."

The response might have seemed suspiciously swift, had it come from anyone other than Sherlock Holmes, master of the abrupt, both in speech and action. The palm was presented to Watson, long fingers perpendicular to the floor, as could be proven if he cared to trace a line between; their alabaster surface tinctured by the orangey flames.

Neither spoke a word as Watson kissed the palm and slid his own hand to match it, resting the two hands against each other completely; a focal point for lines of sight, and it was inevitable that they should meet.

"Let me see if I have this correctly."

Holmes shifted to face his friend directly, his words neither command nor question, but a cool, calculating statement, with a faint undertone that Watson had detected with increasing frequency in the past six months or so. Very well, eight months. He had most definitely _not_ been counting.

Watson nodded in assent, and the paler hand moved away from his own.

Sherlock Holmes bent his head to the palm and touched it gently with his lips, right upon the vein now thudding clearly. As he had expected, Watson's pulse increased as he left his lips lingering upon the seam of skin across his palm, before drawing back to slide his palm back into the previous almost-clasp.

Lifting his head, Sherlock smiled, meeting Watson's gaze. For once, the good doctor did not appear befuddled. Surprised perhaps, but not baffled. The smile glistened on his face like dew on long grass, illuminated by reason striking a chord across his countenance, tweaking the edges of his moustache upwards with the movement of his lips. Aglow, perhaps.

Fingers slid fractionally apart before locking each other into a firm embrace.

Still, neither spoke. It seemed superfluous. The mystery of this gesture was solved, whilst the mystery of their futures, always firmly locked together, but now more clearly so, was far brighter than had been hoped for or yearned for by either.

The spare hands repeated the gesture, four hands locked in a pair of pairs.

Holmes broke the silence which threatened to drag until the moment, whatever it might be classed as, was ruined.

"Watson, might I have the loan of your lips?"

"Indeed, if my face can spare them."

"I should appreciate the loan of that as well."

"I fear my skull would be rather destitute without it." The words held undisguised jest, and Holmes considered his Boswell's twinkling eyes far brighter than whatever wonders "astronomy" might boast of.

"Ah Watson, I see you are quite aware of my ulterior motives."

"I shall do all that you ask of me, Holmes."

"What a delightful thought." A faintly devilish glint now visible on his visage, Holmes drew himself closer to his friend, conjoined hands now lingering barely an inch from either's body. "And in which case, I'm sure you will understand the necessity of my first request. However, it appears I must amend it. I now require the loan of your entire person."

"There are hard times indeed!"

Both laughed, although Watson's gentler chuckles rumbled on for a few seconds after Holmes' violent bark.

"Very well Holmes, but I should make it clear that I _do_ charge interest."

"That, my dear Watson, is purely an incentive."

Watson's laughter barely had time to breathe before Holmes bridged the final prerequisite, and took out the loan aforesaid.


End file.
